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The Strategy Game
At Whitefeather's command, Janus guided his son forward. It was strange to see him-he'd never laid eyes on the tom before, but after the brown tabby had told him his mother's name, where he'd come from, and what had happened to him, Janus knew who he was. The son was silent as Janus led him forward. Scars crossed over his back occasionally, and his two blue eyes showed no fear. At least, he hoped not. The white she-cat was crouched atop a pile of crates grooming herself, but when she saw the tabbies' approach she leaped down. "So, this is your boy, Janus?" she asked cooly, looking the smaller cat over. The young tom cringed as her face came near. One half of her face was covered in scars. The remaining blue eye told the tale of moons gone past, of calculating and stalking and biding her time. "He is," Janus answered. "Hmm..." Whitefeather shifted her eyes from son to father. "I can see the resemblance." "The brown cat took care of my scratches," the smaller cat informed her. "I feel much better now. Thank you." "X? Yes, he does that. Consider him your personal helper." Whitefeather dipped her head. "You may leave us now, Janus." Janus hesitated only for a moment before bowing his head and vanishing into the shadows. His son watched him go uneasily. "What is your name?" Whitefeather asked, her voice forcing the tabby's gaze back to her. "My name?" The tabby lowered his gaze to his paws. "You'd laugh at me. Just call me...um..." his blue eyes darted around, searching desperately for something to name himself after. "Can you call me...um...Scratch? I promise I'll tell you my real name in time...once I'm sure you won't use it...against me." Whitefeather rasped her tongue over her muzzle. "Oh yes, I like you already." When she got no response but silence, she flipped her tail beneath the tabby's muzzle and forced his chin up. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." The cat called Scratch flinched. "Anyway," Whitefeather dropped her tail and moved to sit beside a small pile of stones. "I invited you here so I could speak with you. I learned recently that my old friend Nameless had taken it upon him to mentor the cat they call Flashpaw." Scratch's ears flicked up. "He's alive?" "Alive and well," Whitefeather reported, scowling. "Though not for long, I'm sure. But I have long been searching for a young cat such as yourself to pass on some of my knowledge to. But I need to be sure we can trust one another." Scratch hesitated. "You killed...cats." It sounded so pathetic coming from his own mouth, but he didn't know what else to say. "Why should I trust you? For all I know, I could be kidnapped right now. And you're going to try to get information out of me." "Oh no," Whitefeather purred, brushing his paws with her tail. "Why don't you play a game with me?" The tabby settled himself down uneasily. "What game?" "It's a game of my own creation." Whitefeather created a complicated circle of stones with the rocks from the pile. "You play as the red bones, and I'll play as the white bones." Whitefeather slid a trio of red-colored bones towards him. Scratch tried not to think about where the red might have come from. "Now, this is your starting point." She tapped a particular rock with one forepaw, "this is another, and this one is another. Put one bone on each spot." Scratch did, watching Whitefeather do the same on her side of the stones. "Good. Now then," using her claws, the scarred she-cat plucked up one of the bones. "Each turn, you can move one piece. You can jump your bone over one of my pieces if your bone is on the adjacent stone. Following me?" "Yes," the tabby answered, staring at the stones. "Good." Whitefeather set down her piece on a new rock. "You can only move to an adjacent stone, or jump one of my pieces to get there. Once your bone jumps over one of my bones, it's out of the game." "All right," Scratch mewed, excitement building in his voice now. "However, I can get it back if I jump over one of your pieces." Whitefeather flicked her tail. "That's the trick. You have to be careful with your moves to be sure that when you jump one of my pieces, I don't jump you right back." "Got it." the tabby leaned forward, whiskers brushing the stones. "You moved your piece there?" "I did," confirmed the she-cat. Janus's son peered at the stones and bones for a moment, studying them carefully. Then he plucked up one bone and moved it to a nearby stone. Whitefeather made the similar move on her side of the rocks. For a moment there was silence as Scratch and Whitefeather concentrated on skipping bones over the game. "You are doing well," the leader of the rogues meowed once Scratch had jumped one bone over one of her own. She swept it from the stones with one paw. "Each piece is special in its own way." She chose another bone and hopped it from one stone to another. "They're all important, and you need them all to win, yes?" "Right." Scratch studied the game, then selected one of his pieces and slid it from rock to rock. "Ah, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made." Whitefeather nodded at the game. Scratch stared at it with a frown. Whitefeather had cornered him-one of her pieces could hop over one of his, but his had no room to jump over hers without falling off the board. Mouse-brain, he scolded himself. The she-cat picked up her bone in her claws and jumped it over Scratch's. "Once a piece no longer serves its purpose, it is destroyed." Again the she-cat motioned at the stones. "By making this counter move, what have I done?" "Made your piece available for mine to hop over," the tabby realized. "Exactly." Whitefeather watched as her opponent completed the move and regained his piece. "That's called strategy. Sometimes obstacles get in the way, and must be removed. Sometimes deaths are unavoidable, but strategic leaders always have a backup plan." "Like you?" Scratch questioned. "Like me." Whitefeather smiled. "Life is a game, my dear Scratch. The strongest can control it. They choose what decisions to make, who dies, who lives." The she-cat slid another piece up beside Scratch's, who quickly jumped it and looked back up at her again. "The weaklings are the ones pushed around. If they're strong enough to fight, let them fight. Life is chance. Life is a game. Sometimes the winners lose. Sometimes the losers win. That's why you must build yourself up to be the strongest. Because even if they lose, the strongest wait. They bide their time. They strategize." Whitefeather hopped over a piece Scratch had carelessly moved too close to her own and claimed back one of her shunned bones. "And then, when the time is right, the strong make their move. They fall back, plan, and strike. Then they build themselves up to be sure that they are in charge, and everyone knows it. They make sure nothing can knock them down again." "But they can be knocked down," Scratch announced proudly, skipping a bone over one of Whitefeather's. "Then they retaliate," the she-cat insisted, hopping the same piece with a different bone. "That's what strategy is all about. You pick your battles. You make your choices. Sometimes before the end of the game, the outcome has already been decided. And it's only a matter of time before-" Whitefeather jumped another of Scratch's bones. "the game ends." Scratch gazed at the bones and stones, calculating in his mind. He saw the way Whitefeather had set him up now-his final piece was trapped. No matter which direction he moved, one of her bones was waiting to jump him. "Every move is made with a purpose," he realized, looking up at the scarred she-cat. "You planned ahead. You let me jump over your pieces sometimes, because you knew I what I would do. You set me up. You won." Whitefeather beamed at him. "That's how life is, Scratch. Sometimes you're on the short end of the stick, blind in the darkness, while your enemy watches you, calculates your movements, and decides how they'll play this game. What they'll do to win. Like I said, sometimes you have to make sacrifices, but as long as you come out on top, you recover in the end. Sometimes you play offensive, other times it's necessary to play defense. And let me say this, my dear Scratch." Whitefeather leaned forward until her whiskers brushed his own. "If the stronger play offensive, the defendant will lose." The tabby studied the game, then retrieved his pieces and lined them up on his stones. "Again. I want to try a different strategy this time." "Go ahead." Whitefeather's single blue eye glinted coldly as she set up her own bones. "You've earned another chance." Category:Warriors Fanfiction Category:Short-Story